


makin' lazy circles in the sky

by ignipes



Category: Panic At The Disco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-22
Updated: 2008-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:16:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignipes/pseuds/ignipes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carnival rides never last long enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	makin' lazy circles in the sky

"I'm sticky," Brendon says.

"Um." The teenage boy working the Ferris wheel looks around, confused. "I'm Clint."

Brendon laughs and says, "Nice to meet you, Clint." He opens and closes his fingers as he talks, moving them in a snapping little motion. "Clint the Carnie. Take us away, Clint the Carnie." Brendon collapses onto the bench beside Jon, then holds his hands out of the way in a stick-'em-up gesture, waving the paper cone and last pink shreds of cotton candy like a conductor's baton.

"Uh, sure." Clint the Carnie snaps their safety bar into place and backs away quickly.

Jon shifts to put his arm around Brendon's shoulders and says in a stage whisper, "I think you scared him."

Clint the Carnie wasn't blushing before, but he starts now, going beet-red all the way down his neck. He fumbles with the lever and controls, and the Ferris wheel jerks into motion.

"It's okay, Clint the Carnie," Brendon calls as they grind past him in the first halting, noisy moments of their ride. "I was way dorkier than you in high school!"

Somebody in the chair behind them starts laughing, and when Jon looks back Clint is ducking his head, trying to hide under his John Deere trucker hat.

"Well, I was," Brendon says.

Jon pats his shoulder. "You still are."

"Yeah," Brendon sighs. He leans heavily against Jon and rests his head on Jon's shoulder. The Ferris wheels stops as Clint the Carnie lets some more people on behind them, and Brendon sighs again. He smells like beer and sweat, dust and sugar. It's too warm for them to be sitting so close. "And I'm sticky."

"And drunk."

"I can't believe how much beer costs here," Brendon says. It's the third or fourth time he's said it since they arrived, and his outrage grows with each repetition. "We're in Oklahoma!"

"Where the wind comes sweeping down the plain," Jon agrees. He reaches over to grab the last lonely wisp of cotton candy, puts it in his mouth and lets it dissolve on his tongue.

"And the waving wheat sure can smell sweet," Brendon sing-songs, drumming his fingers absently on the safety bar.

And Jon finishes, "When the wind comes right behind the rain."

The Ferris wheels moves again, unsteadily and noisily, and Jon wonders how old the machine is, how long it's been giving rides at the Lincoln County Fair. Every third yellow and blue light on the frame is burnt out and the benches are wooden, creaking and cracked and polished to a shine.

Jon tilts his head back; they're right below the next seat in line, and past them he can see feet and legs hanging down, kicking playfully and tapping restlessly, bare legs and jeans and cowboy boots and sneakers and sandals splashed in kaleidoscope light. He wishes he hadn't left his camera on the bus. The fair was a spur-of-the-moment way to kill a few hours between stops, a chance to stretch their legs and see the sky. Somewhere below, among the fairground lights and scent of livestock, the greasy food and cheap prizes and shouting kids and tired parents, everybody else from the bus, even the driver, is gathered around a sharpshooting booth watching Ryan and Zack battle to the death, or to victory in the form of a giant purple teddy bear.

"Oh, good." Brendon sits up as the Ferris wheel starts moving away. It's moving with a purpose now, no more people to let on and off. "This is the best part."

Brendon leans over the safety bar and looks down. Jon knows Brendon's not going to take a header off the bench: little kids are perfectly safe riding, Clint the Carnie had assured a mother of three in line before them. But he keeps a hand on Brendon's back anyway, his fingers tucked into the collar of his t-shirt, against his skin. Brendon is kicking his feet, and as Jon watches the sleepy-tipsy vagueness fades from his expression and a wide, bright smile takes its place.

"Dude," Brendon says, turning to look at Jon suddenly, "your flip-flops are going to fall into the gears."

Jon straightens his legs and wiggles his toes. "No way," he says. "My feet never lose their grip."

"That would be a really dumb way to go," Brendon says, falling back against the bench. Jon rests his arm across Brendon's shoulders again. "I can see the headlines now: 'Tragic carnival mishap blamed on lost flip-flop.'"

Jon nods. "That would be a dumb way to go. It's a good thing I never lose my flip-flops in carnival rides."

"Hey." Brendon's moving again—even on a Ferris wheel he can't sit still—sliding a few inches away from Jon on the bench and turning toward him. But he's not looking at Jon. He waves at the people in the bench behind them and grins when they wave back. They're at the bottom of the wheel and Brendon looks up, his neck and jaw a long line in the carnival lights, and he says, "Wait."

"What for?"

" _Wait_."

They're halfway up, coming around to the top again, and it always seems so much faster when you're on the ride than when you're watching. Brendon slides closer to Jon, looking directly at him now, one warm hand on Jon's arm and their legs bumping together.

Then he leans over quickly and kisses Jon on the lips.

Brendon is still smiling when he moves away and they're falling to the bottom of the wheel.

"I've always wanted to do that," he says.

Jon could ask him what part of it he's always wanted, or whether it would be better if they were stopped at the top rather than racing over, or make a joke about how he doesn't think they go for that much in Oklahoma, but he doesn't.

He doesn't ask or joke. He only smiles and says, "Me too."

Brendon rests his head on Jon's arm, and Jon watches him watching the lights until the wheel slows and somewhere below Clint the Carnie prepares to let people off.

Carnival rides never last long enough.


End file.
